


Tough Times

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Dadtryck, Gang, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, PleaseGivePaulandPatryckABreakTord, Reckless Driving, Smoking, Suicide, highschool!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After surviving a tedious, abusive childhood, Tord is adopted by Paul & Patryck. Becoming a rebellious teenager in High school, Tord engages in reckless activity with his buddy Tom, drinking, smoking and all in between. Looks like tough times are ahead.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Read this if you want LOTS of angst, and cute, fluffy Dad moments.





	1. Toxicity

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, Beginning this fic because I met an unfortunate end with the other. Oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord is a dumbass. The end.

‘’Stop- MOMMY NO!’’ The childs legs trembled in the kitchen, the utensil drawer open. The woman came raging upon him, casting a shadow of terror. A hand raised, about to strike his cheek. Out of pure defence, the childs hand drifted towards a knife, adrenaline coursing through his veins like thunder, plunging the weapon into the warm flesh. Blood, blood spewed out everywhere, spraying in all directions and soaking the child. A loud thud caused a large flinch, screeches filling the room as Daddy entered.   
‘’What have you done!’’   
‘’Daddy, I..’’  
‘’I don’t want you, I never did.’’  
A clang clashed onto the floor, knife colliding with the tiles. 

~

‘’Mr. Patryck and Paul, you’re aware of this particular childs past and current behaviour?’’

‘’Yes, we are.’’ Paul glared the woman in her eyes, sensing the intense judgement radiating off of her. ‘’We want him.’’

‘’Very well, you’ve completed the two year term. Sign these parental forms.’’  
A grin shone on both of their faces.  
`

‘’Tord, are you watching Hentai again?’’ Loud moans echoed throughout the house, and frankly neither Patryck nor Paul appreciated the incessant noises. 

Quickly, the boy shut his laptop, twirling to the doorway in his swirly chair. ‘’Oh no, Patryck. Why would I do such an immoral thing?’’ a grin crept onto his face, crossing his legs. This is a regular occurrence, and even routine. Each attempt his Dads made to halt this obsession only ended in Tord getting his way, hacking into the blocked site. 

‘’Get ready for school, you’ve got target practice today.’’ Patryck left with a pursed smile, he’d scold Tord later. For now, the boy needed to go to school without any worries. 

Hah. As if Tord was going to stay for even first period. He knew what he was going to do, get high all day with Tom. His Dads didn’t know he did any of this, a carefully constructed plot of rebellion. An extra pair of the same clothes, a shower, calling in a fake sick-day and you’re all good. Sliding on his shoes, he waved goodbye to Paul and Patryck as they left for work and he for school. He couldn’t ask for better adoptive parents, despite their irresponsibility. They never hit him, yelled or cursed. It was amazing really, how they tolerated Tord. He lived across from his high school, conveniently. Due to this, he could always leave last minute and still be in class before the bell. Strutting into the doors, waited Tom at the entrance. The two have been friends since kindergarten, sharing a similar fucked-up past of shitty parents. To outsiders, it looked like they hated each other. It couldn’t be more the opposite, that was friendly banter. Although, neither of them would admit they liked each other. 

‘’Hey, Drittsekk.’’ Tord playfully knocked Toms shoulder, who reciprocated. 

‘’Hi, Commie.’’

‘’Just because I’m from Norway doesn’t make me a Commie.’’

‘’Sure, Tord.’’ Tom gave a half-baked answer, crossing his arms. ‘’How about we go get drunk?’’

‘’You couldn’t have said it better.’’ Tord grinned, brushing past Toms shoulder as the two fled out to Tom’s motorcycle. It was a really fun ride, and even Tord wished he owned one. The adrenaline that came from the possibility of danger consumed them both, leaving a imprint in the mind. Both putting on the helmets leaning on the bike, Tom took front seat as Tord sat behind him, purposefully wrapping his arms lower than needed on his waist as he tucked his body in. 

‘’I’d punch you if I wasn’t preoccup-’’ Tom cut himself off, a loud gag forcing its way from his mouth, cursing to himself. Tord had pressed his fists into his stomach, as any impact would hurt. 

‘’No one ever hurts me, got it?’’ 

‘’Yeah yeah-’’ Tom made his second mistake of being nonchalant, because Tord really increased his death grip. 

‘’Got it?’’ He growled, much lower. He never allowed anyone to make any comment surrounding injury, even if it appeared in a joke or friendly chat. Abruptly, Tom stepped on the gas, sending a wave of shock up Tords spine, relaxing soon after. The cool wind cut through his cheeks, his clothes blowing in the air. Naturally, the two always went to their basic lair, an abandoned tree house in the forest. There, they had a hidden stash of alcohol, courtesy of Tom. Tord zipped through the streets, grinning to himself. The ride was all but too short as they neared their destination. Halting the bike, Tom stepped off with Tord and parked it. Dramatically, Tord whipped his hair after taking off the helmet. This received a snort and chuckle.  
‘’You’re too ugly to do a hair flip.’’ Tom shot back, climbing up the rope ladder, Tord trailing behind him. 

‘’I’m not the one who tattooed my eyes black.’’

‘’They’re cooler than you’ll ever be.’’ Tom scoffed, sitting cross legged on the wooden floor. He lifted a bottle of smirnoff for himself, and whiskey for Tord. Thankfully taking it, with ease Tord popped the cap off. His mind drifted to his Dads, and how disappointed they’d be to find out about his misdeeds and lies. On top of that, both Tom and Tord were alcoholics and Tord smoked cigarettes. He supposed that was like asking for an early death. 

‘’Here, let me help you.’’ Tom bent over towards Tord, taking the bottle from his hands, tilting his head back. As any ‘normal’ man would do, Tord opened his mouth knowing what was about to ensue. The slightly warm yet cool liquid slid down his throat, soon stopping. Tord knew Tom noticed his hesitation, yet they made a truce to stay silent about their personal lives. Emotions were forbidden between the two, men didn’t partake in such actions. 

‘’That hits the spot.’’ Tord rubbed a wrist across his mouth to wipe away excess alcohol, the bitter taste welcoming. 

‘’It better.’’ Tom joked, setting the bottle back into Tords hand. Then it hit Tord, the burning realization. He slipped up. Tord forgot to call in sick, therefore the school would notify his Dads about his absence, and then they’d yell and scold- his mind twisted with possibilities. Would they leave him? Would he suddenly be unwanted?

‘’What’s wrong with you today?’’ Tom raised an eyebrow. They both knew that was a rhetorical question, ‘’Do I need to help you drink or what.’’

‘’On the contrary, Tom. We’re getting plastered.’’ What did he have to loose? His Dads would find out in an hour or so, why not ride out the alcohol while he could? 

‘’That’s the spirit!’’ Tom grinned, chugging down his smirnoff cheerfully. Joining him, Tord swished back the burn in his throat, and the tingling

Paul sat at his desk, picking up a ringing phone.  
''Paul, the school called Tord absent.'' Patrycks voice shakes over the phone.   
''He skipped school, try calling him.'' Paul suggested, his head leaning onto his shoulder to keep the phone in place. Paul is the rational one between the two of them, never jumping to conclusions. Tord is already a crazy kid, god knows what he could be doing.  
''He wouldn't pick up, I called twenty times. connect me to an operator.'' The line cracked, almost reminiscent of a walkie-talkie. He couldn't distinguish whether that was his husband's voice or the signal.   
'The funny thing is, you're speaking to a police officer.''  
''This is not the time for jokes, Paul. My boss allowed me time off work right now to look for him.''  
''Ok, I'll connect you to an operator.'' He obliges, sending the transmission.

~  
''What do you mean I need to wait 24 hours?'' Patrycks eyebrows furrow, hand gripping the phone like a vice.  
''We're sorry, sir. Goodbye.''   
''Oh, they hang up on me!'' Patryck stuffed his phone into his back pocket, pacing in the hallways of his house. He wouldn't wait, no he'd begin his own search. Sliding into his car, he grumbled. Where could that kid be? Steering off, his mind filtered through possibilities. Tom, Tords friend. He had his phone number, might as well call him. Who cares if he was driving right now? 

Ring, ring.   
''Hello?''  
''Tom, is Tord with you?'' Patryck asked, background noise of honks distracts him further. There is a pause in the call, Tom went quiet.   
''Yes, he is running late. I'm driving him to school as we speak.'' Tom lied through his teeth, covering for Tord.   
''Running an hour late, Tom. Where are you?''  
''Know that he's safe.'' Tom hung up.  
''What is with people and hanging up!'' He slams his hand on the horn, erupting an obnoxious noise.

~  
''Tord, wake up.'' Tom yelled, careful not to touch him. Tord made it clear that is always a no-go. He never allowed Paul nor Patryck to touch him either.   
''Huh..'' He rolled onto his side, pieces of grass sticking to his cheek. Drool stained his mouth, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up.  
''You've got a few minutes to sober up until we need to see your Dad.'' Tom replied.  
''Which one..?''  
''Does it matter? You smell like whiskey so change into your new clothes.'' Tom stood up, dashing to the backpack laying on the ground. He tosses the same pair of clothes at Tord, who huffed.  
''M' not goin' to hide it. Pat n' Pally isn't dumb, y'know..'' Tord swatted Tom away, who shrugged. ''Why not enjoy it while I can?''  
''Damn, you're right Tord. In that case.'' Tom tossed another bottle, landing beside Tords body as he gave a thumbs up. He pops the cork off, and Tom lies beside him. Tord had to admit half of his drinking was Tom's fault, having influenced him. This was not something he regrets, though. Every thing felt ok in this state, and it's all going to be okay. Somehow, he managed to lift the glass to his lips without fumbling, taking down the toxic substance. Great, he's an adrenaline junkie, alcoholic and a smoker. Whats next, sex addict? Music still pumped in his ears, a new song plays.   
''I'm blue da ba dee da ba die. Blue are the words I say and what I think, blue are the words inside me.''

A car pulled up, a disaproving face stepping out of the car.   
''How'd ya find us?'' Tom raised an eyebrow at Patryck, who tucked his phone away in his pocket. He assumed he sent a message to Paul saying Tord's ok, well 'ish'.   
''License plate number of your motorcycle, Tom. Courtesy of Paul.'' Patrycks gaze turned to Tord, who lies on the green grass, hands behind his head with earbuds in, whiskey in hand.  
''You're drinking with him? You didn't try to stop him? And you were drunk driving!''  
''I hadn't had a lick.''  
''You still didn't stop him.'' Patryck dashed over to his son, who roused and sat up.   
''Oh, hey Patty.'' Tord slurred as Patryck plucked the earbuds out of Tords ears, grimancing.   
''You're in big trouble, young man.'' Patryck hooked arms under Tords armpits, lifting the boy up and into his arms. He sat him in the back seat, laying down. He glared at Tom, who under stood under the tree. Once Tord was sober he'd ask how he and Tom got hold of alcohol, and how long this has went on.   
''Ive' been apprehanded!'' Tord announced, screwing pronnounciation, fist pumping the air. ''This fills great!''  
Patryck sighed, shaking his head. The mephtic stench of alcohol contanimated his car, causing him to cringe.   
~  
They sat in the house, Tord laying on the couch whilst spewing innocherent nonsense. Patryck had handed him a glass of water, he didn't want his son throwing up. The front door creaked, Paul entering in his uniform. Kicking off his shoes  
'''I got your message Patry- Oh my god.'' Paul gasped, gagging at the stench in the air. ''He was drinking? Whiskey from the smell of it.''  
''Yeah.'' Patryck turned to face his husband, sighing. ''We're awful parents. How long has this been going on? We never noticed his stupid activity.''  
''Tord is expert at concealing, Pat.'' Paul huffed, sitting beside Patryck. ''He's crying now.''  
Tord weeped, hands covering his eyes in disarray. He could hear the disapointment in his Dads voices, and how he made them feel incompetent. God, he didn't deserve such great people.   
Paul was about to hug his adoptive son, when Tord violently jerked away from the touch, anger evident in his eyes. Paul was tugged back by Patryck, who leant an arm around his back.   
''He has proffesional help, what do we do now?''

''We eliminate Tom from his life, I suppose. He's a bad influence.'' Paul sighed, ''I hate to do this.''

''What about group therapy? Meeting others with similar problems could work.'' Patryck suggested, tilting his head onto Pauls shoulder. 

''Noooo..'' Tord rejected, hiccuping.

''It's for the best, Tord.'' Paul bit his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first version, Tough Times REWRITTEN will be posted separately to eliminate confusion.


	2. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah and this chapter is 1000 words, They'll get longer as I progress.

Paul sat at his desk, picking up a ringing phone.  
''Paul, the school called Tord absent.'' Patrycks voice shakes over the phone.  
''He skipped school, try calling him.'' Paul suggested, his head leaning onto his shoulder to keep the phone in place. Paul is the rational one between the two of them, never jumping to conclusions. Tord is already a crazy kid, god knows what he could be doing.  
''He wouldn't pick up, I called twenty times. connect me to an operator.'' The line cracked, almost reminiscent of a walkie-talkie. He couldn't distinguish whether that was his husband's voice or the signal.  
'The funny thing is, you're speaking to a police officer.''  
''This is not the time for jokes, Paul. My boss allowed me time off work right now to look for him.''  
''Ok, I'll connect you to an operator.'' He obliges, sending the transmission.

~  
''What do you mean I need to wait 24 hours?'' Patrycks eyebrows furrow, hand gripping the phone like a vice.  
''We're sorry, sir. Goodbye.''  
''Oh, they hang up on me!'' Patryck stuffed his phone into his back pocket, pacing in the hallways of his house. He wouldn't wait, no he'd begin his own search. Sliding into his car, he grumbled. Where could that kid be? Steering off, his mind filtered through possibilities. Tom, Tords friend. He had his phone number, might as well call him. Who cares if he was driving right now? 

Ring, ring.  
''Hello?''  
''Tom, is Tord with you?'' Patryck asked, background noise of honks distracts him further. There is a pause in the call, Tom went quiet.  
''Yes, he is running late. I'm driving him to school as we speak.'' Tom lied through his teeth, covering for Tord.  
''Running an hour late, Tom. Where are you?''  
''Know that he's safe.'' Tom hung up.  
''What is with people and hanging up!'' He slams his hand on the horn, erupting an obnoxious noise.

~  
''Tord, wake up.'' Tom yelled, careful not to touch him. Tord made it clear that is always a no-go. He never allowed Paul nor Patryck to touch him either.  
''Huh..'' He rolled onto his side, pieces of grass sticking to his cheek. Drool stained his mouth, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up.  
''You've got a few minutes to sober up until we need to see your Dad.'' Tom replied.  
''Which one..?''  
''Does it matter? You smell like whiskey so change into your new clothes.'' Tom stood up, dashing to the backpack laying on the ground. He tosses the same pair of clothes at Tord, who huffed.  
''M' not goin' to hide it. Pat n' Pally isn't dumb, y'know..'' Tord swatted Tom away, who shrugged. ''Why not enjoy it while I can?''  
''Damn, you're right Tord. In that case.'' Tom tossed another bottle, landing beside Tords body as he gave a thumbs up. He pops the cork off, and Tom lies beside him. Tord had to admit half of his drinking was Tom's fault, having influenced him. This was not something he regrets, though. Every thing felt ok in this state, and it's all going to be okay. Somehow, he managed to lift the glass to his lips without fumbling, taking down the toxic substance. Great, he's an adrenaline junkie, alcoholic and a smoker. Whats next, sex addict? Music still pumped in his ears, a new song plays.  
''I'm blue da ba dee da ba die. Blue are the words I say and what I think, blue are the words inside me.''

A car pulled up, a disaproving face stepping out of the car.  
''How'd ya find us?'' Tom raised an eyebrow at Patryck, who tucked his phone away in his pocket. He assumed he sent a message to Paul saying Tord's ok, well 'ish'.  
''License plate number of your motorcycle, Tom. Courtesy of Paul.'' Patrycks gaze turned to Tord, who lies on the green grass, hands behind his head with earbuds in, whiskey in hand.  
''You're drinking with him? You didn't try to stop him? And you were drunk driving!''  
''I hadn't had a lick.''  
''You still didn't stop him.'' Patryck dashed over to his son, who roused and sat up.  
''Oh, hey Patty.'' Tord slurred as Patryck plucked the earbuds out of Tords ears, grimancing.  
''You're in big trouble, young man.'' Patryck hooked arms under Tords armpits, lifting the boy up and into his arms. He sat him in the back seat, laying down. He glared at Tom, who under stood under the tree. Once Tord was sober he'd ask how he and Tom got hold of alcohol, and how long this has went on.  
''Ive' been apprehanded!'' Tord announced, screwing pronnounciation, fist pumping the air. ''This fills great!''  
Patryck sighed, shaking his head. The mephtic stench of alcohol contanimated his car, causing him to cringe.  
~  
They sat in the house, Tord laying on the couch whilst spewing innocherent nonsense. Patryck had handed him a glass of water, he didn't want his son throwing up. The front door creaked, Paul entering in his uniform. Kicking off his shoes  
'''I got your message Patry- Oh my god.'' Paul gasped, gagging at the stench in the air. ''He was drinking? Whiskey from the smell of it.''  
''Yeah.'' Patryck turned to face his husband, sighing. ''We're awful parents. How long has this been going on? We never noticed his stupid activity.''  
''Tord is expert at concealing, Pat.'' Paul huffed, sitting beside Patryck. ''He's crying now.''  
Tord weeped, hands covering his eyes in disarray. He could hear the disapointment in his Dads voices, and how he made them feel incompetent. God, he didn't deserve such great people.  
Paul was about to hug his adoptive son, when Tord violently jerked away from the touch, anger evident in his eyes. Paul was tugged back by Patryck, who leant an arm around his back.  
''He has proffesional help, what do we do now?''

''We eliminate Tom from his life, I suppose. He's a bad influence.'' Paul sighed, ''I hate to do this.''

''What about group therapy? Meeting others with similar problems could work.'' Patryck suggested, tilting his head onto Pauls shoulder. 

''Noooo..'' Tord rejected, hiccuping.

''It's for the best, Tord.'' Paul bit his lips.


	3. Mission Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord sneaks out with Tom, remembering nothing from yesterday. Shenanigans ensue.

Tord woke, covered by blankets on his bed. His head throbbed, a steady rataplan of beats in his head. Sitting up, he rubbed the aching spot, wincing. The last thing he remembered was being at the field with Tom, getting wasted. Ahh, such a wonderful time. He didn't care about the repercussions, and would do it again. Reaching for his desk blindly, his hand snagged Tords phone. Clicking the home button, he squinted at the blue light. Pulling down the settings board, he lowered the brightness intensity. It cured some of his pain, yet it still lingered. Opening up the texting app, Tom had been deleted from his contacts. He didn't remember doing that in the least. A faint voice in the back of his mind called out, and he swore he was hallucinating. Then, a clang slammed on his window, shocking him to reality. Prudently, he peered outside the window. Below, Tom who had presumably been the culprit of the stone chucked at his window. Opening the slide to the net part of the window, Tom spoke up.

''Come out, I've been trying to get your attention for an hour.'' 

''How?'' Tord replied, the noise only intensifying his pain.

''I don't know, make a cord with your blankets!''

Turning back around to his room, he glanced around. This hadn't been his first escape through the window, and certainly not his last. Opening a discreet drawer, where underwear were folded, underneath them was rope. Perfect, he knew this would come in handy some day. Tying it firmly to a hook on his roof, he grinned and launched the other side out of the frame where he cut a hole with his switch blade long ago. Tugging to check the stability, he gave himself a brief nod. Backing out the window, gripping the rope, he planted his feet against the brick outside of his house, walking backwards down the wall. The unstoppable Tord strikes again! Reaching the end of the rope that hovered over the ground, he released his grip and let himself fall, shoulder rolling onto the ground. Crouching, he dusted himself off before recovering. 

''Dude, that was epic.''

''This isn't my first time.'' Tord shrugged, crossing his arms. ''So, what happened?''

''Black out drunk, huh?'' Tom scratched the back of his head, tapping his foot, ''Patryck found us via my license plate and he took you home. I don't know anything else from there.''

''Crazy... '' Tord crossed his arms, glancing off. 

''Pretty convenient you have rope isn't it, Tord?'' Tom teased, turning on the balls of his feet to walk to his motorcycle. 

''As I said, not my first time.'' Tord followed behind to Tom's motorcycle, appreciating the gorgeous blue paint. Tom had already gotten on, gesturing Tord to join him. Sitting behind him once again, he put on his helmet. ''What time is it?''

''Three-AM, the streets are going to be deserted.''

''Pedal to the metal, Tom.'' Tord demanded, and Tom obliged. They drove off, faster than any speed limit would allow. They bent forward, making themselves aerodynamic. 

The adrenaline distracted him from his horrid headache, replaced with excitement. They had no strict destination, or any place in mind. Like a nomad, wandering wherever they were taken. Tom yelled over the revving motorcycle, 

''WE SHOULD START A GANG!''

''YOU THINK SO?'' Tord yelled back, clutching to Tom, ''WHAT IF WE GET INVOLVED WITH WORSE PEOPLE?''

''WE'LL KEEP TO OURSELVES, MOST GANGS THESE DAYS HELP AND ALL.''

''TALK ABOUT THIS LATER.'' Tords throat began to hurt, halting the conversation where it was. They stopped off close to a convenience store, where they loitered. Shaking a cigarette box, he gestured to Tom if he would like one. His friend shook his head, and instead Tord lit one for himself, huffing out the nicotine. Any stress or pain dulled, leaving him happier than usual. ''So, what now?''

''We just chill, I guess.'' Tom shrugged, foot on the wall behind him. The place seemed nondescript, yet eerily ominous, a lurking feeling of danger. Shadows approached, and they both tensed. Two men, they didn't look like the burly buff type, instead the local bullies of Tords school. Adrien and Alex. 

''What are  _you_ doing here, losers?'' Adrien raised an eyebrow, hand on his hip. Beside him, Alex who leaned his weight onto his right leg.

''Does it matter?'' Tord shot back with riposte, taking another drag before blowing the toxic smoke into the bullies faces tauntingly, stepping close to them. Tom stood aside, letting Tord handle the predicament. Tord knew these two kids bullied Tom, and it didn't settle well with him. 

''Are you picking a fight?'' Alex shoved Tord back, who immediately kept his ground.

''If you need to ask whether I am or not, I'd really question your intellect.'' Tord challenged, smirking. His aura of sangfroid radiated, yet the bullies would not stand down. Adrien lurched forward, throwing his first punch. ' _Predictable'_ Tord thought to himself, dropping the cigar to duck under, kicking out Adriens leg. As soon as he came back to the surface, Alex made no hesitation to kick him, to which Tord retaliated with a grab of the foot, throwing Alex off balance as Tord shoved him back, falling. Adrien apparently hadn't gotten enough, because he recovered. ''You're just a glutton for punishment, aren't you?'' Tord snapped, his voice creepy. Swinging his knee up, Adriens head was driven up, and from there, a roundabout kick to his ribcage sent the bully onto the ground on top of his buddy. Before he could recover, Tord landed a foot on his neck, pressing down at each struggle. ''Bother me or Tom again and you'll experience more than this.'' Tord threatened, ''You threw the first punch, I merely acted in defence.'' 

They nodded as soon as Tord lifted his foot, scurrying off.  

''Dude, do you take karate or something?'' Toms expression reminiscent of astonishment. 

''Martial Arts. It's sort of a comfort for me, really.'' Tord shrugged, lighting another cigarette. ''I'm confident I can take down whoever I want, no one will ever lay a hand on me without permission.'' He inhaled, holding it for a second before exhaling.

''I know we made a no-personal-life truce, but you get so touchy over the slightest hint of injury or touch.'' Tom asked.

''I'm not talking about it, Tom.'' Tord shoved his right hand into his pocket, left hand free to hold the cigarette.

''On a new note, you should probably get home soon. It's 4am. Your Dads will notice you're gone at 7am, assuming thats when they get up.'' Tom kicked up dust with his foot, staring down at the cloud of dirt. 

''Oh, you were deleted from my contacts at some point, I've got to add you again.'' Tord recalled, reaching a hand to his back pocket where his phone resided. He typed in Tom's phone number, sending the mandatory text. ''There we go.'' He mumbled, shoving the phone back into his pocket. 

''Ugh, we can't skip tomorrow can we?'' Tom sighed, crestfallen. 

''We'll get to see Adrien and Alex's harrowing expressions though.'' Tord smirked to himself, ''C'mon edgy boy, let's get going.'' Tord beckoned Tom, who followed as they mounted the azure motorcycle. Speeding to Tords house, Tom parked in front. 

''See you tomorrow, Commie.'' Tom waved, his only reply a chortle as Tord showed his back to him. ''Good luck climbing up there.''

''You underestimate me.'' Tord braced himself, tugged on the rope, jumping up to the wall and planting his foot. Bringing himself up, he scaled like like a spy. He chucks himself into his window, rolling onto his bed beside it. 

 

What a day.


	4. Reprecussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord faces the consequences of his actions, and a rumor spreads.

''Tord!'' Paul called out, ''Get up before you're late for school!'' 

The boy rustled in his covers, moaning as he rolled onto his back. His head still throbbed, and his early activities last night didn't help his sleep at all. God, why did he have to go to school? Propping himself up with a single arm, he lifted his body up and sat up, legs dangling off the bed. The lights stung his eye, not helping his migraine. Desperately, he reached for shades which laid on the desk, sliding them onto his face. He had slept in his clothes, so he wouldn't need to change. His breath stunk of alcohol though, and cigarettes. Trotting towards the bathroom, he turned the tap, picking up his toothbrush and dripping paste onto it. The two smokes yesterday had been the last two in the box he stole from Paul, so he'd need to swipe more later. Flushing the foam from his mouth into the sink, he slicked on his backpack, walking downstairs. In the kitchen was Paul, who had his uniform on. The smell of bacon wafted in the air, and Tord instantly regretted brushing his teeth right away. It would sour the savory taste and he'd need to repeat his actions.

''Take these and skeddle, you'll be late.'' Paul wrapped five pieces in paper towel, handing them to Tord. He pecked his adoptive sons forehead, causing Tord to shoot back and glower. ''Have a good day, Tord. We'll talk after school.'' Paul obviously noticed Tords shades and knew why he wore them.

''Alright, Dad.'' Tord mumbled, rushing out the door and across the street to his High School. In the foyer, Tom waited as per usual.

''Hey Tord.'' He trailed behind the boy, who gave a nod of acknowledgement. ''Feeling better?''

''What's it _fucking_ look like?'' Tord pointed to his sunglasses, shielding his eyes from any and all bright light. He shoved both of his hands in his pockets, pissed he hadn't had a morning smoke.

''Out of cigarettes?'' Tom tilted his head emphatically, keeping up with his friends quickening pace.

''You know me too well.'' Tord waved Tom off, who beamed. The two walked side by side to their first class, Math. Tord never had any difficulty with the subject, in fact he proves to be uncanny at it. Unlike Tom, who is best in English class. Sitting in their respective seats, Tord couldn't help but smirk to himself when seeing Alex and Adriens bruises, sending satisfaction. Kids swarmed them, however asking how he sustained all of those injuries. Adrien and Alex didn't look distraught, rather triumphant. The crowd gasped, hands covering mouths and wide eyes galore. Each gaze struck Tom and Tord, who exchanged glances.

''Really, Alex? You saw them making out?''

''Tord attacked you for no reason?'' Another questioned, several others following.

''Maybe he was defensive about being seen.''

''Faggots.'' The crowd dispersed as the teacher split up the people, sending them to their seats. She knelt beside them both, presumably asking why they were littered with bruises. She then sent them outside the classroom, approaching Tord and Tom.

''Boy's, join Alex and Adrien in the office.'' She ordered, and they both listened wordlessly. Out of the classroom, Tords eyes were widened, but not in the shocked way. It was the 'I-hadn't-smoked-yet-and-these-two-bitches-snitch-someones-gonna-die-tonight.'' And almost broken, insane expression. Tom didn't comment on Tords face, instead keeping silent all the way to the office. He could tell the boy seethes with anger, fists clenched. Opening the door, the principal awaited them.

''Tord, Tom come in.'' He gestured to two seats beside Alex and Adrien. ''These boy's tell me you beat them up for no particular reason whilst you two made out?'' Tom silenced Tord, who was about to speak out.

''You've seen Alex and Adrien in your office before for hurting someone else, and bullying me. Do you really believe what they say?''

''That is true, Tom.'' The principal cupped his hands, ''Tord had bases to attack, but do you think he took it too far?''

''No, I did not take it _too_ far!'' Tord exclaimed, arms crossed, '' _They_ threw the punch and I stopped them until they stayed on the ground.''

''Alas, you still hit a child, Tord. And so did Alex and Adrien. Therefore you both are suspended for two days.''

''If that means less school, then count me in.'' Tord scoffed, shaking his head dismissively.

''I'll be calling both of your parents as well, Tom is excluded, seeing as he partook in nothing.''

Oh wonderful, yesterday Tord got caught red-handed drunk. And, his Dads would know he sneaked out last night with Tom plus beat up two kids. The Principal sent them home, with Tom waving as Tord left to meet his inevitable doom. Inside waited an expecting Patryck, who crossed his legs on the couch.

''We'll talk when Paul gets home. For now, go to your room.'' No reply, he stormed up stairs. Grumpy, Tord grabbed his earbuds off of his desk, plugging them into his phone. Only music would help ease his stress right now. Well, that and a cigarette paired with whiskey. He had neither, so that sucks.

' _And once I heard them clearly say, who are you really, and where are you going? See me bare my teeth for you, who are you_?'

Tord laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. A sudden pang seized his chest, causing him to clutch his right side, every shallow breath stinging. He couldn't feel his hand, head, body. Nothing. Was he dying? It felt like he was dying.

Terror ripped its way through, tears pricking his eyes. 'I never loved you.' Blood appeared, it paints the room. Faint yelling occurred. Patryck. Patryck- he needed someone, anyone. So, in his strongest voice he called out. His Dads already knew about his various panic attacks, and always knew how to sooth him.

''DAD!'' his voice croaked, lyrics providing only the smallest security. Patryck came rushing in, door slamming open when he saw his son doubled over, hugging his legs. Careful not to touch him, Patryck announced his presence.

''Tord, Tord I'm here. Look at me ok?'' Tord glanced up at his father, eyes wide and wet.

''Can you count to five and breathe?'' He nodded, trembling breaths halting for seconds before resuming the pattern.

''Great job, you're doing wonderful. I'm going to give you some grounding exercises okay?'' Tord nodded. Patryck plucked the earbuds out of his sons ears so he could listen.

''What are two things you can feel?'' Tord leaned into Patryck on purpose, gripping the white fabric and hair, hand running through. The boy laid limp. Patryck could feel his sons heart pounding against his own body as the brunet tucked his head in.

''What is one thing you can hear?''

''Your... voice.'' Tord choked out, almost incomprehensibly.

''Tord, remember to steady your breathing ok?'' He hiccuped, chest visibly rising and falling. Letting his arms around Tord, Patryck held him close. You should never touch anyone having a panic attack unless they initiated, which Tord did. ''What's one thing you smell?'' Cologne, the musky scent of axe.

''You.'' Patryck noticed his exercises working their magic, because Tord visibly calmed. Tears still streamed down his face, though. It was quite cute how Tord always stuck to either Paul or Patryck and pointed out what he could feel, smell or hear of them.

''Are you feeling calm?'' 

''Yeah.''

''Do you want me to stay with you for now?''

''Yeah.'' Tord repeated himself, keeping himself pressed up against Patrycks body.

''You're safe now.'' Patryck leaned his head into Tords hair, arms still wrapped.

What did he do to deserve Patryck?


	5. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul brings Tord downstairs and his Dads have the talk with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
> Cacophony: incoherent, horrible mixture of noises  
> Cagey:Suspicious, reluctant to disclose information  
> Intransigent: Stubborn to change opinion.  
> Bibulous: An excessive fondness of alcohol
> 
> Just so ya guys aren't lost.

It had only been a few hours after Tords incident. The sudden panic attacks were common, and sometimes popping up randomly. The vulnerbility he demonstrated hung in his mind, nagging embarrassment at him. Tord constantly reminded himself that Paul and Patryck have seen him plenty of times like that, and it was okay. That wouldn't mean he'd get out of the talk his Dads were about to unleash unto him. 

''Tord!'' 

That was his cue to move his sorry butt down the stairs and to his inevitable death. Dragging himself from the desk, he huffed with each step. In front of him in the living room Paul and Patryck sitting together, legs crossed. Sitting across from them, he twiddled his fingers, biting his lower lip. Evidently his palms sweat, becoming clammier each second.

''We've a lot to talk about.'' Paul sighed, folding his arms. ''The school told me you decked a young man last night.'' 

''Son, I'm so proud of yo-'' Patryck began, gagging once Paul not so subtly elbowed his gut, still keeping contact with Tord.

''Don't encourage him.'' Paul chastised, while Patryck slumped down on the couch. ''Did you throw the first punch?''

Patrycky perked up, eyes wide and fists up.

''No, the bully did.'' Tord replied, a loose smile on his expression, eyes wrinkling. Patryck seems so eager to know if his son threw the first hit, and slumped once again he learned it was not so. 

''I believe you.'' Paul cupped his hands, ''You probably don't remember, but your Dad and I decided you shouldn't see Tom, and we're putting you in group therapy.'' 

Tord tensed, crinkling his nose. ''You can't do that!'' he protested, standing up abruptly. ''Tom is my best friend, I _can't_ go without him. He's my only one at that! The rest of my school hates me, and there are gossiping bitche-''

''Language.'' Patryck interrupted, ''We're not changing our minds. It's either you stop this drinking problem or we eliminate the influence.'' Something in his eyes dulled, averting away soon after. Tord didn't have time to psychoanalyze every movement his father made, so instead he scowled. 

''And I am  _not_ going to group therapy. No one else needs to hear my problems, nor my stupid Mommy and Daddy issues!'' Tord threw his hands up, slapping them back down to his lap. ''What am  _I_ supposed to say? Hi, my names Tord and I'm an alcoholic who nearly killed his Mother!'' He mocked, eyes narrowed at both of his parents. Whipping around to the door, he clenched his fists. Opening the door, Paul went to get up when Patryck lent out an arm, stopping his husband. 

''Let him blow off steam.''

Tord pressed the home button, clicking on his messenger app. The top contact, Tom. Gnawing on the drawstring of his hoodie allowed him to relax. God, if only he had a cigarette. What would he do for a cigar. 

 

**Me:Meet me at school and pick me up(4:23PM)**

 

**Tom: Am I your uber?(4:25PM)**

 

**Me: Get. Over. Here. (4:28PM)**

 

Running across the street to his school, he had to make sure his Dads wouldn't spot Tom. He needed to go to the gym and beat something up, anything. Tom appeared, coming to a slow in front of him. Wasting no time, Tord hopped on. ''Get going.'' Tom scoffed.

''Where?''

''The gym.''

They took off, Tord didn't bother to put on his helmet, taking the risk. It's not like he cared if anything happened anyway. Gas stations passed by them in a blur, cars honking at each other vehemently. Thankfully, the Gym was not far because right as Tom parked his bike, Tord already set off towards the glass doors. Running behind him, Tom caught up.

''Blowing off some steam?''

God, how could he care about Tom that much? It must be _pathetic._ Absolutely pathetic. To expose himself even more. Not just that, the mere fact he had to go to group therapy, where he'd need to release all of that information. Everyone would prod and prod at him, soon finding out he's a filthy murderer. He didn't feel the bit of remorse having stabbed his Mother, rather ashamed about what others would think. Outside, a solid exterior and the inside- he didn't want to know. 

''Just practicing my martial arts.'' Tord replied, cooly as possible. ''Flask.'' He knew Tom had a flask on him at all times, even in school. He snuck hidden sips throughout the entire day. 

''I finished it.'' Tom answered, seeing visible contentment in Tords face that vanished within a second. Inside the gym and up the stairs waited a boxing dummy, ready to be plumbed to a pulp. A roll of fist tape sat on a nearby table, where Tord  wrapped each hand haphazardly. Thumbs pressed over his knuckles, fingers tucked he stood in front of the hanging bag. Taking stance, he threw a curve. Each one followed by another in progression. Spinning on his foot, his leg came launching at the poor piece of hanging fabric, sending it to the side as it swung back at him. Tom stood back, hands protecting him as Tord went haywire on the bag. One large, left hook sent the bag back, returning the favor by smacking Tords face, tumbling back to the ground with a loud clang.

''GAH-!'' 

''Whoa.'' Tom gasped, jumping with hands covering his mouth. There, his friend laid, on the ground seemingly unconscious. People stared, the empathetic looks burning holes into his back. Blood dripped, a cut on Tords forehead shown. _'He must have a concussion'_ Tom monologues. Slipping his phone out, he dialed 911. 

''Hello?''

''Uh- my friend suffered a concussion. He's unconscious.''

''Where are you?''

''Abc Gym.'' Tom replied, and the other gave a affirmative answer, hanging up. Two EMTs arrived. They crouched beside Tord. If you hadn't experienced what happened one would think he was asleep with that peaceful face. What could've possibly riled him up this much? Slowly, Tords eyes fluttered open. 

Stars littered his vision, the world spinning around him uncontrollably. Two- no, three blurry men above him, incoherent voices muffled by ringing in his ears. What happened, why was he on the floor and who are those men? His head stung, much like his migraine a few days ago. Pressure pressed, increasing his dizziness. His eyes wanted to close again, what with the light assaulting his vision. A cacophony of noises overwhelmed his senses.

''Grade 1 concussion.''

''-On a gurney.'' 

''Wha....'' He grumbled, head tossing back and forth. 

~

''Tom, what happened?'' Paul rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling as Patryck lent an arm around his husband. 

''Tord asked me to pick him up and get him to the gym. So I did. I swear to god that boxing dummy got more damaged than him, he went  _haywire._ '' Tom replied, shoving his hands into his back pocket, slightly frowning. ''Didn't say anything of whats bothering him. The only tell-tale signs were quick pace and clenched fists. He's good at concealing rage, y'know.'' 

Paul decided to withhold the information to which they ordered Tord to stay away from Tom, because now was not the time to spark an argument. 

''Thank you for taking care of him.'' Patryck gave a warm smile, hiding away contempt from his face towards the influential boy. 

''I just called the police like any normal person.'' He shrugged, lifting an arm to cover a bruise conspicuously on his arm where the sleeve had been pulled up only the smallest bit. This caught Pauls attention, eyes scrunching at the boys modesty of covering such a wound. 

''Where'd you get that?'' Paul questioned, steeping his hands together whilst glancing sideways. 

''Oh, I bumped myself on a corner, it's no big deal.'' Tom refrained from looking away, cagey. He gave half a smile towards the parents, a sudden change in his confident demeanor, turned small. 

folded paper. Scrawling down his work and home number, he handed the paper to a reluctant Tom. Pausing, the boy took the torn piece and pocketed it. Rousing from his sleep, Tord groaned. 

''OOOhh shit..'' He said breathy, hand to his bandaged forehead. The words were the sound of a true, distressed man who gave up long ago. 

 _'Bullshit'._ Paul grimaced inwardly, he'd recognize the signs anywhere. The fact Tom felt the need to conceal a wound, and even make an excuse that frankly sounded robotic raised red flags. Like people attract like minds, he supposed. ''If you ever need to talk, heres my phone number.'' Paul reached into his pocket, where he always kept a pen and

''How are you feeling?'' Patryck took a seat on Tords bed, ''You were out for quite a bit. Tom told me you went off on a punching bag and got hit.'' He glanced downwards as a sight caught his eyes. Bloody knuckles with sloppy preparation of tape. They were beaten and bruised, cracked. 

''Maybe because of earlier?'' He scoffed weakly, coughing suddenly. 

''We still want you to try group therapy, and if you don't like it we'll go back to regular schedule.'' Paul piped up, tearing his gaze away from Toms wound. ''As much as we don't want you around Tom, you've got to stop that habit. Can you promise us?'' 

''Promises are strong.''

''Tord.'' Patryck said lowly.

''Fine. Don't blame me if I break though.'' Tord begrudgingly agreed, relaxing on his bed. 

''And you, Tom.'' Paul began, his gaze softening. ''Please, don't bring up the notion of being bibulous, try to stop him.'' 

In return, Tom nodded, tight lipped and transgient. Tord had such caring parents, it almost churned his stomach in a disgusted manner, turning his shoulder away from Paul. A much colder aura radiated. Waving nonchalantly, he exited the room. This triggered an onset of concern within Paul and Patryck, what is so wrong with him?

~

''I can walk on my ow-'' Tord lost balance, falling backwards as Patryck wrapped his arms around the boy to catch him, hastily removing his hands as he saw Tord cringe. 

''We can't have you getting another concussion, now can we?'' Patryck snickered in reply to the fall, receiving a shrug off from his son.

''Speaking of injury.'' Paul lifted an index finger, pursing his lips. ''Tord, did Tom ever say anything about his parents?'' 

''We make it a point not to whine about our personal lives.'' Tord steadied himself, arms out beside him as they walked out of the hospital, the Dads keeping behind to stop any collapses. ''I don't know about him, he doesn't know about me. Something must've caused his drinking problems.'' 

''Uhuh...'' Paul said under his breath in a thoughtful manner, staring into space. 

''But, I'm not asking him. That's just awkward.'' 

''No, no need. I'll sleep on it.'' Paul replied, absentmindedly. 

''But Tord can't sleep after his concussion.'' Patryck spoke, gesturing to his son as the topic came up. 

''Ugh.'' Tord moaned, grasping his head. Serves him right for being so stupid and not paying attention to what he was doing, ''I need a smoke.'' He mumbled, though loud enough to be heard by Paul, who gasped. ''Fuck!'' Tord cursed, sighing.

 

It's just one thing after another, isn't it?

 


	6. Good news!

I will be rewriting A LOT of my chapters, seeing as how I believe I can do x10 better than the previous garbage. Not to mention I want to write the characters better, rather than on the fly. Due to comments, a single user said they were lost a bit, and that would be a lot of others are too. Not to mention my various grammatical mistakes. Make sure you reread them, they should be out within a day or three. Depends.


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